You've Done It Now
by lacedwithlilacs
Summary: Q from MI6 is James Moriarty's younger brother, Sherrinford; and not happy with that fact. After Moriarty kills himself, Sherrinford writes to him to try and tie up the loose ends between them.


Brother,

When family passes on, one is supposed to mourn, aren't they? Though, to be honest, I would hardly describe our family as ordinary. Even as young children we were never very keen of one another, but the past hardly matters anymore. I honestly wish that I could say I was surprised by the nature of your death, though that would certainly be a lie, now wouldn't it?

Although I have a natural desire to simply _wish_ that we had a more positive relationship, now that such a bond is physically impossible, I would simply be lying again. Even if I were to have been closer to you, would your death really affect me? You know, in my line of work, I am trained to understand that death is a natural part of life. I have grown accustomed to close colleagues being killed and thus have created a natural defense mechanism in myself to ward off these sort of unnecessary feelings of sorrow. Perhaps you would call such a personal defense stupid or pathetic, but I would call the method of your demise the same.

Moving on past the details of your death, I have decided to break strict protocol for you. If that does not show at least some miniscule form of endearment, then I don't know what possibly could. I have never explained my line of work to you in depth, nor have I explained how you pushed me to such a position. I know that I used to tell you that your constant plans of evil and destruction had to be stopped before unnecessary people were injured and that is why I joined the government agency. It was a fairly easy lie to plant in you, since you always seemed to believe I was nothing like you.

In honesty, Jim, we are more alike than you'd prefer to believe. Our drives are similar, if not exactly the same, though you know this from years of schooling where teachers would continuously compare us. You quite remember those days don't you? Where our parents would go to the conferences with our teachers and hear about the infamous Moriarty brothers. Such bright young boys with such a hearty desire for knowledge. Thankfully, I assume we can both agree on this, we are far past those days of education and having to be subjugated to such meetings.

There is absolutely no doubt that our intellect is near the same, though yours is much more diabolical and draws out on how to exploit those that benefit you. There is absolutely not a soul in all of London that can deny your genius. You are able to come up with elaborate schemes that draw world class detectives like Sherlock Holmes to their breaking point. You have had your master plans splayed over the fronts of newspapers in England, America, essentially everywhere after you so willingly let yourself be caught. World class agents are informed of your previous ways, teaching themselves how to keep themselves protected from your superior mind games. I'm sorry if this paints me as liking you at all, I am simply naming facts.

Perhaps I should have at least visited you while you were spending time in the most guarded prison cell in English history, but I cannot even _say_ that I wish I had. I have had nothing but disgust for you my entire life and had I been able to help bring you and your partners down, I would do so in a split moment. Thankfully, you've already carried out my desires yourself.

Again, I feel as though I should wish that our relationship were a bit more old-fashioned. Maybe we might be able to sit down and at least have tea together or something mundane like that. It would definitely impress Mum, don't you think? Speaking of Mum, remember how she used to lament to us that we should at least try to get along for family gatherings. Instead, hopefully you remember that Christmas when you were 12 and I was only a mere 6 years old. They say that memories from that young of an age tend to be warped through experiences later in life, but I remember this event so dreadfully accurate that I know it's fact.

In case you don't quite remember it all perfectly, since there were other instances where you tormented me beyond what is typically acceptable for young boys, I'll recall it for you. It took place at our grandparent's house, our Mum's parents. As you'll remember, the grandparents in the countryside with the large yard surrounding it that our humble mother and father would never be able to have in a city like London. That Christmas, the entire countryside was blanketed with snow and looking out of our Grandmum and Grandfather's front window, all you could see for kilometers and kilometers was pure white, sparkling snow. The kind that made young boys such as us yearn to go outside and play.

Do you remember the creaking floorboards as well? Especially in front of the kitchen where you could hear the wood begin to give by simply standing on it, even from the weight of small children like us. Though Grandmum and Grandfather didn't live in what is traditionally considered an English cottage, it must have been the most English house in all of the country to us boys. Continuing on though, it was right before dinner was about to be served. Mum had told us to go and wash our hands before the meal was served and like good little boys, we complied with what our mother wished.

Knowing you as I do now, I should have suspected that you were up to no good when you listened to Mummy though. I simply call this as part of my stupid childhood innocence that plagued me for so many years. I was washing my hands in that perfect white porcelain sink in Grandmum and Grandfather's ground floor bathroom, shaped like a shell and I wondered how clean ones hands must be to have soap emulate that bright white shine. Though, I was simply a 6 year old boy so perhaps that was why my hands never looked like the sink.

Mother had sent us both to wash our hands but even as I dried my hands on Grandmum's plush, velvet red towels, it hadn't occurred to me that you were not there. Note the amount of detail I am giving about Grandmum and Grandfather's house; this is how precisely I remember every single aspect of this. Even as a 28 year old man, I can recall every moment of this instance and play it back in my head like a film shot just moments ago. Returning to the story though, as I came out of the washroom, you tackled me straight to the floor from the side.

From your right hand, you shoved an entire large spoonful of peanut butter into my mouth. Being much bigger than I was, it was absolutely not a real fight for you to pry my mouth open and make that horrible spread touch me. I can still feel the paralyzing fear as I felt my tongue and throat swelling up, remembering how the doctor that Mum had taken me to see before had told me that any peanut could easily kill me. Such a stupid thing to be brought down by, is it not? Though you're now the expert on stupid ways to die between the two of us.

As my tongue began to swell and my eyes began to water, I do not know what you did with the peanut butter. Whether you threw it simply down the hall or in the trash, I won't ever know, but by the time that Mum and Dad got to me, you said I had been a stupid five year old and eaten a peanut without knowing what it was. Mum and Dad never suspected you as they drove me to the Accident and Emergency. Even when I told the story, they passed it off as a method of coping with such a traumatic event. At that time, you were still a golden child in our parents' eyes. I don't know how you managed to hide such a pitch black soul from the people who claim to know us best, but I must give you at least props for being such a good actor. Speaking of acting, I heard that you have actually branched into such as a stable, normal-looking career.

Look at where we ended up though, another spot where we ended up more similar than we would have liked. You actually passing as a simple actor in most people's eyes, occasionally in commercials on the telly while being among the world's top underground criminal masterminds. I am a computer programmer, occasionally helping the government's website with creating programs designed to look up a person by simply their first and last name. Instead though, I am simply a high ranking member of the government. I would make some sort of threat that if I told you, that I'd have to kill you, but since you've already departed, it's a bit of a moot point.

Though fully exposing my formal title to someone who is below my status, which unsurprisingly includes you, is grounds for immediate termination and deportation, I can instead give you clues. You're an intelligent man and with your (albeit limited) inside knowledge of the government, you can easily figure this out. My job is as the head of the "research and development" department. We are responsible for any and all experimentation within British government locations.

Not to mention the fact that I have access to literally every document logged in the British government, regardless if I have to hack into a few of them. You know that with my computer skills that is absolutely not a problem. I know that your latest heist's downfall involved an inability to successfully hack into one of the leading banks in the country's system and that was how you managed to get seven lower ranked men caught and executed. Though it wasn't public knowledge, I simply used my magic password.

You pushed me to this career path, though it may not be explicitly known. When you began in the acting business, or so you said to Mum and Dad, I knew that you weren't. Even though you ended up in a few small roles in theatres in London, mostly to appease Mum and Dad, I could tell it was a cover up. Being so distant though, I knew there was not a possibility in finding out your true career through traditional methods. So I had to dig deeper, I had to be able to access any file at any time. While being a full time hacker was certainly an option, and a fairly easy one at that for me, I didn't want to become bogged down by such a burden. I decided to take the professional way into hacking, through the government. When you "break" into files in the name of the government, it becomes less of breaking in and more of researching.

You know that rambling has always been one of my downfalls, especially on subjects that I'm interested in. Your death most likely ranks in the top three I would have to say. When my assistant came into my office to report the news, she commented that I should show a little bit of remorse for the death of an immediate family member. Unlike agents, soldiers, secret service men, when a family member dies, I shouldn't show my heart of stone. I retorted simply with "Though we're blood, we're not related."

I did not have to have anyone tell me why you killed yourself. I know that you were in the height of your career, everyone knew that from your latest string of major security breaches. Instead, I immediately thought, "You've done it now, haven't you. Killed yourself because you were bored." From the nature of your close colleagues' interrogations, I am right on your boredom. I do have to say though, shooting yourself on the top of St. Bart's Hospital, in front of dozens of passing civilians, is quite a pathetic way to go.

With constant disdain,

Sherrinford Moriarty


End file.
